


Demonology 215

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-30
Updated: 2006-06-29
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8746345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Willis the demon returns - and this time, he faces the Winchesters himself. Sequel to Demonology 101.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

_**FIC: Demonology 215 - NC-17 (Supernatural)**_  
 

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Willis the demon returns… and this time, he faces the Winchesters himself

Spoilers: none, unless you have no idea what John’s ride is

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Not mine, alas.

Warnings: Wincest

Thanks to my wickedly funny betas, [ ](http://nyxfixx.livejournal.com/profile)[**nyxfixx**](http://nyxfixx.livejournal.com/) and [ ](http://moondagny.livejournal.com/profile)[**moondagny**](http://moondagny.livejournal.com/)

Notes: This won’t make a whole lot of sense if you haven’t read Demonology 101. I also want to offer hearty thanks to everyone who fb’d that fic, especially those who encouraged Willis to make an encore!

Crossposted to [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/sn_slash/profile)[**sn_slash**](http://community.livejournal.com/sn_slash/), [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/snslashnotebook/profile)[**snslashnotebook**](http://community.livejournal.com/snslashnotebook/), [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/wincest/profile)[**wincest**](http://community.livejournal.com/wincest/), and [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/supernaturalfic/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/supernaturalfic/)**supernaturalfic**

 

 

In Light of His _Most_ Unexpected Popularity,

_and_ in acknowledgement of her Intellectual Debt to Messrs _Gaiman, Pratchett_ , and _Moore_ ,

 

_Professor Cricket_

(whose knowledge of entomology is virtually nil)

 

with the assistance of her Able and Arguably Sane betas

 

 

Proudly Presents

the Continuing Adventures

Of 

 

 

The Demon Willis

 

 

Including appearances by his Infernal co-workers, 

Darrell and Annabelle

and a host of (much) lesser demons

 

 

In Glorious Combat

Against

 

 

The Brothers Winchester

(Samuel and Dean)

 

 

Fighting for their own Lives, as well as those of:

a cynical waitress

her unhealthy employer

and random Argentinians

 

 

With a Special Appearance by 

 

 

John Winchester, Esq.

Demon-Hunter and Father

 

 

Contents

 

1\. The Assignment,

In which Willis’ job becomes even Worse

 

 

2\. The Field Trip,

In which Willis discovers the Advantages of Kitten-Sitting

(those of Delicate Constitution are advised to Read No Further!!!)

 

 

3\. A Diner Full of Demons,

or, Miss Bev does not Startle Easily

(including a debate for the ages and much expository material)

 

 

4\. Various and Sundry Epilogues

(fit for Human and Demonic consumption alike)

 

~

The Engagement of the Century!!!

 

Fisticuffs! Snarkage! Explosions! Hawaiian Shorts!!!

 

Manly Men in  Naked Combat!!!

(not actual combat)

(actual nakedness)

 

Seating is limited; acquire your tickets post-haste!!!

 

 

Positively NO refunds!


	2. Part the First: The Assignment

Part the First: The Assignment  
  
 

Cooking with Pam – Willis’ job becomes even worse – a new class of demons – Darrell questions – Annabelle answers – a Pep Talk distinctly lacking pep – Leonard and the disadvantages of kitten-sitting – the ambiguous qualities of reflective surfaces

 

 

Hell, wrote a minor philosopher, is what you make it. 

 

The demon Willis thought that was idiotic.

 

Happily – for Willis, anyway – that minor philosopher had died in tragic accident with an empty cereal box and a suspiciously-placed ice skate, and was now getting a first-hand tutorial in what Hell was _really_ made of. 

 

Willis stopped by as often as he could.

 

Today, the man was up to his waist in fire, and his upper body was under attack by vicious, bloodthirsty dogs. There was a demon tending the dogs, leaning on a shepherd’s crook and looking very bored.

 

“Hi, Pam,” said Willis.

 

“Hiya,” said Pam, sounding unenthused. “You here to torment the prisoner?”

 

“If it’s not inconvenient.”

 

Pam shrugged. “Don’t bug the dogs.”

 

“Not a problem.” Willis approached the torture pit, and leaned over. He had to shout to make himself heard over the philosopher’s agonized screams.

 

“I brought some books along today,” shouted Willis cheerfully. “You’ve got a choice. Let’s see, there’s Schopenhauer. I thought that might be nice, hearing the words of a fellow philosopher. What do you think?”

 

The philosopher wailed in agony.

 

“I see what you mean. He’s a gloomy sonofabitch. How he got Upstairs is beyond me.” Willis casually tossed the book into a nearby fire pit; it sizzled and disintegrated. “I’ve also got Dante. _The Divine Comedy_ , of course.”

 

The philosopher reached out into the air, grasping desperately, trying to fend off the dogs, his body wracked with pain.

 

“Yes, excellent point. A little too close to home, eh?” Willis tossed the book into the flames.

 

The philosopher screamed wretchedly.

 

“I also brought a ‘Tammy Clue, Girl Sleuth’ mystery – _The Ninety-Ninth Cat_ ,” he continued. “It’s set in France – that’s a nice change, isn’t it? There’s a really sexy sequence where her boyfriend Ted does a striptease to _Le Marseilles_. Well, not really, but Tammy _does_ get another concussion. That girl’s taken more hits to the head than George Foreman and Muhammad Ali combined, you know that?”

 

The philosopher sobbed incoherently.

 

“Not a fan of boxing, huh? But my point is that by now, after having been knocked unconscious more times than I can count, the poor thing should be staggering around drooling and barely able to say her own name, but instead she’s still up and kicking ass. Without a gun, of course. I don’t approve of gun violence.”

 

“Hey,” said Pam, “you bring any Jackie Collins?”

 

“No, but that’s a good idea,” said Willis.

 

“Oh, God, kill me!” screamed the philosopher. “Please! Kill me!”

 

“Oh, that’s sweet of you to ask,” said Willis. “But you’re out of His jurisdiction, pal. Besides, you’re already dead, so it’s not like there’s a lot I can do about it. I guess you just aren’t feeling very literary today, are you?”

 

Willis tossed the book into the pit carelessly; it thudded off the head of one of the dogs.

 

“Watch it!” shouted Pam. 

 

“Sorry,” said Willis. “Hey, didn’t you have a trainee last time I was here?”

 

Pam snorted. “Yeah, I played U.P.-Yours for a whole week, then sent him Topside for his first assignment. Easy as pie, and he totally waxed it.”

 

“What’d he do?”

 

One of the hell-hounds started to lose interest in the philosopher; Pam nudged it back with her shepherd’s crook. “I sent him to a bookstore,” she said. “Told him to rip out the last pages of mystery stories. You know, where the solution is revealed. Tiny, but frustrating.”

 

“How’d he mess that up?”

 

“You know the pages after the story is over? The ones with ads for other books you can buy from the same publisher? He ripped _those_ out instead.”

 

Willis rolled his eyes. “What’d you do with him?”

 

Pam gestured under the philosopher. “Pea-brain here is standing on what’s left of him.”

 

Willis sighed. “It really makes you wonder what this place is coming to some days,” he said. He turned back to the philosopher.

 

“Bet that seems nice, huh? No more torture, just total oblivion, no existence of _any_ kind.”

 

“Never!” screamed the philosopher. “You’ll never break me!”

 

Willis snorted. “Don’t give Pam here any ideas,” he said. “She’s strangely resentful of intact collarbones.”

 

He stood up. Pam nodded, indicating something over his shoulder. 

 

Willis turned, and gave a little wave. “Hi, Darrell.”

 

“Hi, Willis. Pam, you mind if I borrow him for a while?”

 

Pam shrugged, and whacked at the philosopher with her shepherd’s crook. “Good idea about the collarbones, Willis.”

 

“Always a pleasure, Pam. See you ’round the funny pages. And you behave, young man,” he added sternly to the philosopher, who was now being pummeled by Pam.

 

Darrell sighed as they walked away. “Willis, I’m afraid I’ve got to make your life a whole lot worse.”

 

Willis shrugged. “I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

 

“No, I mean, _actually_ worse,” said Darrell. “This goes back to that thing with Speedy Pete.”

 

“Oh, come on!” said Willis. “I’m not being spanked for that, am I? I saved Hell a lot of humiliation and expense by seeing to it that stupid thing was dispatched.”

 

“I agree,” said Darrell. “And unlucky for you, the Boss agrees with you, too. That’s why you’ve been put in charge of a new special project.”

 

Willis groaned. “I’m afraid to ask.”

 

“Oh, it won’t be as bad as all that,” said Darrell with the cheerful confidence of someone who knows it isn’t his problem. “C’mon, Annabelle is rounding them all up now.”

 

“Rounding up whom?” asked Willis.

 

“Your new class of demons.”

 

“ _My_ new class? What, are they going to be called _Demoni Willisoni_ in my honor?”

 

Darrell laughed. “Not that kind of class. I meant you’ve got a group of students.”

 

As Willis boggled with horror, Darrell led him to a rocky outcropping above a river of molten lava. Annabelle stood a little ways away from a group of five other demons. Most of them were fairly bland-looking, though one was overwhelmingly furry. It had stuck its talons up its five-nostril nose.

 

“Hi, Willisssssssss,” said Annabelle. She waved a fin in the direction of the group. “Well, there they are, in all their lacklussssssster glory. The failuressssssss get conssssssigned to oblivion, and the usssssseful onesssssssss go to the sssssssecond ssssssssssstage and get an U.P.-Yoursssssss.””

 

“What am I supposed to _do_ with them?”

 

“Weed ’em out,” said Darrell. 

 

“Oh, well, all right then,” said Willis, sounding much more cheerful. “None of ’em are up to snuff. Ditch the lot. Now, let’s go get drinks.”

 

Annabelle shook her enormous head. “No, you have to give them ssssssome tessssstssssssss firssssssssssst.”

 

“I’m sorry,” said Willis politely, “what do I have to give them first?”

 

“Tesssssstssssss.” She rolled her giant eye. “Examssssssss.”

 

Willis scratched his head thoughtfully. “Well, I haven’t got anything prepared, but I could come up with some essay questions…”

 

“Not like that,” said Darrell. “The Boss says you have to take them Topside for observation of subjects and some kind of group discussion. He says that most recent failures have been because of inadequate preparation.”

 

“And he thinks that taking them Topside for a look around and a chat will help?”

 

“He’s in charge,” said Darrell meaningfully.

 

“So he is,” said Willis quickly. “I’m sure there are all sorts of things behind the scenes that I just don’t understand. Mid-level, that’s me.”

 

Annabelle handed him a small book. “Welcome manual,” she said. “It’sssssss from the Bosssss’ management kick in the ’80ssssssss. There’sssssss a lot of sssssssstuff about sssssssspreading fear among humanssssssss and teamwork.”

 

“Do we still give those out?” asked Darrell.

 

“No,” said Annabelle, “but one of the ssssssstudentssssss kept whining about it, sssssso I dragged thissssss out of sssssstorage for her.”

 

Willis sighed. “You’re a good demon, Annabelle.”

 

She shrugged. “I’m jussssssst a traffic cop.” 

 

“You happen to remember anything about that manual? Is there anything on the Winchesters in there?”

 

Annabelle grinned. “No, it’ssssssss out of date. John wassssss jussssssst ssssssstarting when it wassssssss written. You have a plan already?”

 

“Maybe.” Willis winked. Annabelle winked in return – presumably, though it was difficult to tell with just the one eye – and then she disincarnated.

 

Willis turned to Darrell with an obviously fake smile. “Well, I guess I can’t put it off any longer.” 

 

He strode down to the junior demons. They perked up at his approach.

 

“My name is Willis, and they stuck me in charge of you,” he said. “Who wanted the manual?”

 

A squat, brownish, scaly demon raised its hand. “Me,” it said. “I’m Sally Ann.”

 

“Good for you,” said Willis. He tossed her the book. “Don’t take it too seriously, all right?”

 

“I’m Leonard,” said a demon with reddish-brown fuzz and three large eyes.

 

“Congratulations,” said Willis. “I’m really not all that interested, all right? But you, fur ball,” he said, talking to the exceptionally furry student, “get those talons out of your nostrils, all right? That’s disgusting. Right. Now, you get a pep talk, and here it is. Most of you are going to be losers. Maybe only one or two of you will be decent enough to enter the next level of demonhood, and the rest of you will just cease to exist. Now, we’ve got some work to do, so I want you to get ready. Meet back here in half an hour.”

 

“What should we do to get ready? Do you mean, like, go to the bathroom or something?” asked Leonard. 

 

Willis sighed. It was like babysitting kittens. “Just leave me out of your personal functions. Oh, and those of you who have not yet seen your demonic forms should avoid reflective surfaces for a while. You’re pretty hideous. ”

 

He left the little group talking nervously among themselves, and walked back to Darrell. Slowly, the student demons started filing past.

 

“How long do you think it will take one of them to find –?” began Darrell. He was interrupted by terrified screaming.

 

“Less than ten seconds,” said Willis. 

 

“I knew that reflective wallpaper was a good idea,” said Darrell, smiling.  
 


	3. Part the Second: The Field Trip

Part the Second: The Field Trip

Willis discovers the sole advantage of Kitten-Sitting – Leonard again – Manly Men in Naked Combat

(Persons of delicate constitution proceed at their own peril!)

 

 

The old Impala was the only car in the motel parking lot. Willis incarnated about twenty feet away from it, taking the human form he’d had in life. He looked around: none of the junior demons were there.

 

Willis rolled his eyes, and disincarnated.

 

A few moments later, he incarnated again, this time surrounded by his trainees, now in their previous human forms as well. One of them threw up.

 

“Don’t stand anywhere near me,” said Willis.

 

“What are we going to do now?” asked Leonard.

 

“Do you remember that right before we left, I said we were going to observe a pair of demon-hunters?”

 

Leonard nodded.

 

“Well, _guess what_ we’re going to do now?”

 

“Are we going to watch them hunt a demon?” asked Leonard, sounding a little worried.

 

“No, tempting though that thought is, we are not. Now follow me, and don’t ask stupid questions. In fact, let’s assume the worst and just say ‘don’t ask any questions at all,’ shall we? Now we’re going to – oh, for the love of Hell, get your finger out of your nose!”

 

The junior demon in question gingerly did as ordered.

 

Willis stomped off.

 

Sensing the location of humans was a demon talent; one that had to be nurtured, to be sure, but in theory, any demon could do it. A much more difficult task was locating a _particular_ human in a throng. Willis could do that easily, but this time he didn’t have to exert himself. The motel was well out of the way, and resonated with seediness; the Winchester brothers were the only guests.

 

Willis quickly found their room.

 

He turned to the motley crowd behind him. “Right, now I’m going to show you another trick – and pay attention this time, because if I have to demonstrate something twice again, there’ll be Hell to pay.”

 

There was no response from the group.

 

Willis glared at them. “If you mess up, you’ll regret ever having met me.”

 

A couple of the junior demons exchanged glances suggesting that this was very much the case already. 

 

Willis shook his head again. “Just watch and learn.”

 

One of the demons, a girl with mousy brown hair, raised her hand.

 

“Yes?” sighed Willis.

 

“The name of the trick – is it in the manual they gave us? I could look it up.”

 

“It’s not in there,” said Willis. “Just _watch_. And no more questions, remember?”

 

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

 

He turned into a bug.

 

After a few moments, he turned back into his human form. “Right, the _point_ of that was to get you to do the same thing, not just stand there and gawk at the ruggedly handsome dragonfly. You change too. And,” he added quickly, “you can be any bug you want.”

 

He changed again. One by one, the junior demons also assumed bug form.

 

_Now follow me_ , Willis thought to them. He waited as they chittered excitedly over being able to communicate without speaking. Then he flew to the Winchester brothers’ window, and landed on the glass. He concentrated on seeing through the heavy blinds.

 

He’d worked out, retroactively, what the late and utterly unlamented Speedy Pete had done to get front-row seats to the show he’d walked out of early. It had been a neat bit of detective work, and Willis had been waiting for a little free time to try it out himself. He hadn’t counted on other audience members, but this opportunity was as good as any. It was perhaps the sole advantage to kitten-sitting.

 

Willis the demon-dragonfly looked over at his students. It was difficult to tell at a glance which was which, but a praying mantis had a claw jammed up its nasal cavity. Willis shook his head in disgust.

 

_So what do we do now_? asked one of the students.

 

_Watch and learn_ , said Willis.

 

_What are we going to watch_? asked another.

 

_Manly men in naked combat_ , answered Willis.

 

Sam Winchester was lying on the bed closest to the window, buck naked, smiling and laughing. He was looking in another direction, clearly talking to someone across the room. He laughed again, and a t-shirt came sailing onto his face. He tossed the t-shirt aside, smiling, and was quickly barraged by a pair of socks. The socks were followed by a pair of briefs, and Sam held his arm up to deflect them, making a face. Then he smiled again, this time with a different look in his eyes. He propped himself up on his elbows.

 

Dean appeared at the foot of the bed, stripped naked. He knelt down, and nuzzled Sam’s feet with his nose. He slowly ran his tongue across one of Sam’s insteps, over the top of his foot, and up toward his ankle.

 

_What are we supposed to be learning from this?_ asked a June bug.

 

_Reconnaissance_ , answered Willis. _Now shut up_.

 

Dean slowly worked his way up Sam’s legs, alternating between calves with long licks and gentle nibbles. Sam shuddered gently, and his elbows almost gave out from under him; he quickly steadied himself.

 

_I don’t think this has anything to do with demon-hunting_ , sniffed a moth. _There’s nothing about this in the manual_.

 

Willis turned around and stared in disbelief at the moth, who was holding a tiny little book in its front forelegs. _Hopeless_ , he thought, and turned back.

 

Dean had made his way past Sam’s thighs by that point, and was on his hands and knees between his brother’s legs. Sam’s drawn-up knees and Dean’s muscled shoulders made it difficult to tell, but it looked as though Dean was sucking –

 

_Wait a minute!_ the June bug practically shouted. _They’re brothers, right? They’re not supposed to be doing this!_

 

Willis suppressed a sob. _ShutupshutupshutupSHUTUP_!

 

Sam’s arms gave out at last, and he fell back onto the pillow, arching his back up at the same time, breathing hard, eyes screwed shut. He flexed his fists, grabbing at the sheets, and then finally collapsed.

 

Dean looked up, and said something. Sam, eyes still closed but now relaxed, laughed and nodded.

 

_I don’t know what kind of reconnaissance this is_ , said one of the other demon-bugs, _but I_ like _it_.

 

The June bug poked Willis. _Are we going to get in trouble for this? This doesn’t seem, you know, demonic_.

 

Willis smacked the June bug with a wing, dislodging it from the window.

 

The distraction meant that Willis missed the moment when Dean slid his cock into Sam’s body, and he silently cursed the June bug. Dean steadied himself, moving his hips in only the tiniest degree, watching Sam’s face intently. Sam gave a gentle nod, and Dean increased the rocking of his hips, going faster and faster.

 

The June bug tapped Willis on a shoulder. _Look, I’m really sorry about bothering you earlier_ –

 

_Stop bothering me now_! screamed Willis.

 

Dean’s thrusts became quicker and quicker, until Dean too arched upward, his head and shoulders thrown back, the muscles in his torso tensed and flexing, his face painted with ecstasy. Then he fell back at little, gently, and slowly pulled out of Sam. He stretched out next to his brother. They kissed lazily, and began to drift off to sleep.

 

Willis flew off the window, and resumed human form. Within a few moments, his students had all done the same.

 

“Ohhhh,” said one of the students, “we are _so_ going to Hell for this.”

 

Willis smacked him on the back of the head, and disincarnated.


	4. Part the Third: A Diner Full of Demons

Part the Third: A Diner Full of Demons

  
 

Institutional jealousy – Miss Bev does not startle easily – an unhealthy employer –Demons are not Catholic: Sam explains – People are funny: Dean explains – why Hell is like that: Willis explains – the humanity of Argentinians – circumstances in which running away does not constitute retreat

  
 

 

  
 

 

  
 

The motel and the diner sat in the same parking lot, several hundred yards apart. Both were low, squat buildings, to which peeling paint had added a hint of desperation. They also shared a strange kind of architectural enmity, as though the designers of the buildings had resented one another. Somehow, the buildings each emanated the sense that they tolerated the other only in defiance of the truck stop that was five miles up the road.

  
 

 

  
 

That sense of enmity was enhanced by the signs in each building’s lobby. In the motel, long ago riveted to the front desk, was a sign bearing the legend:

  
 

 

  
 

_Remember to_

  
 

_Eat at_

  
 

 

  
 

 

  
 

The name guests were supposed to remember had been blacked out, carefully and precisely, with a black marker. In the diner, Dean noted, was a similar sign, reading:

  
 

 

  
 

 

  
 

_Have a Good Night’s_

  
 

_Rest at_

  
 

 

  
 

 

  
 

The name, presumably of the motel across the way, had also been blacked out, equally effectively but with a great deal less precision.

  
 

 

  
 

The other thing Dean noticed was how _busy_ the little diner was.

  
 

 

  
 

“Sam.”

  
 

 

  
 

No response. 

  
 

 

  
 

“ _Sam_.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Huh?” Sam didn’t look up from his menu.

  
 

 

  
 

Dean kicked him under the table.

  
 

 

  
 

“Ow!”

  
 

 

  
 

Sam looked up at last, pissed off. “What did you do that for?”

  
 

 

  
 

“Take a good look around this place.”

  
 

 

  
 

Sam glanced around. In addition to the waitress – fifty-ish, with bright red hair that came out of a bottle – there were about a half-dozen customers.

  
 

 

  
 

Sam sighed. “It’s every diner I’ve ever seen in my life, Dean.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Look again. Look how many _people_ are here. Which is weird, when you consider…” Dean let his voice trail off.

  
 

 

  
 

“Which is weird, when you consider that there aren’t any cars in the parking lot,” finished Sam.

  
 

 

  
 

“Bingo.”

  
 

 

  
 

“They could have hired Sherpas and hiked over from the motel, same as us.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Except that the Impala is the only car in the _motel_ parking lot,” said Dean. “So where did all these people come from?”

  
 

 

  
 

A good-looking man pulled up a chair to the corner of their booth and dropped into it. “I’m from Cincinnati originally, believe it or not,” he said cheerfully, “though most recently I’m from – well, I’m sure you boys have it figured out.” He winked at Dean.

  
 

 

  
 

“I know you,” Dean said. “I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

  
 

 

  
 

Willis nodded, clearly impressed. “Well done, Mr. Winchester,” he said. “Particularly when you consider that the last time we met, I was a blonde with a size 44 DD-chest.”

  
 

 

  
 

From the table behind them, a skinny red-haired man gasped, “You had a _sex change_?”

  
 

 

  
 

Willis wilted a little. Barely looking over his shoulder, he said, “I took a different _form_ , you idiot.” He shook his head.

  
 

 

  
 

“Your friend there’s not the swiftest,” observed Dean with a slight grin.

  
 

 

  
 

Willis managed a pained smile. “Wouldn’t call him a friend, though I certainly won’t argue with you about his mental agility. My name’s Willis, by the way.”

  
 

 

  
 

“I remember,” said Dean. 

  
 

 

  
 

There was a sigh from above them; both the brothers and the demon looked up. The waitress said, “You moving to this table, _honey_?”

  
 

 

  
 

“For the time being,” said Willis.

  
 

 

  
 

The waitress sighed again, clearly indicating that Willis’ move to a booth three feet away from his original table had thrown well-crafted, intricate plans into complete disarray. She looked down at the Winchester brothers.

  
 

 

  
 

“The nametag says Beverly, but everyone calls me Miss Bev,” she said. “What’ll you boys have?”

  
 

 

  
 

“Something to go,” said Sam.

  
 

 

  
 

Willis laughed, and placed a hand on each brother’s arm. “Not so fast, my good friends. Well, my bitter enemies, but the thought’s the same. Miss Bev, please bring these gentlemen something yummy. Surprise ’em. They deserve it.”

  
 

 

  
 

Miss Bev snorted, and headed back to the kitchen, shouting in pidgin Spanish: “Pedro! Dos French-o toasts-o with confectioner’s ah-zu-car, por fay-vor!”

  
 

 

  
 

“It’s refreshing, isn’t it,” said Willis, “to meet someone interested in cultural exchange, even out here in the desert?”

  
 

 

  
 

“I’m thinking you need to let go of our arms,” said Dean.

  
 

 

  
 

“Now, Dean, Willis here might like the bloody stump look,” said Sam reasonably. “We should at least ask.”

  
 

 

  
 

Willis laughed, and released his grips on them. “Oh, I’m not nearly as into Goth fashions as you might expect. Just so long as you understand that you’re not getting up from this table, and you’re not leaving this diner. Not until – that is, _if_ – I say so.”

  
 

 

  
 

Miss Bev came by with a huge tray of food, and began carelessly tossing it to Willis’ students. Not all of them seemed to remember what to do with it. She set Willis’ own sausage-laden plate down in front of him with a thunk that let him know what she thought about customers who changed tables.

  
 

 

  
 

“Miss Bev,” Sam began, “We –”

  
 

 

  
 

“You’ll get yours in a minute, sonny,” said Miss Bev. She stomped off again.

  
 

 

  
 

“And so you may,” said Willis. “Oh, I know,” he said quickly, raising his hands as if to show he was innocent of something, “you’d take as many of us with you as you could, starting with me. So why don’t we call a truce for the moment? At least until we’ve all had something to eat?”

  
 

 

  
 

“Why don’t you kill us right now?” asked Sam. “That’s not a request, by the way.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Well, you see,” said Willis, tucking happily into the sausages, “this meeting, if you will, is by way of being an exercise. They idiots you see behind me are – ah, how to put this? – trainee demons, in a manner of speaking. And given that you two are the outstanding hunters of your generation, it has been decided by minds presumably wiser than my own that said trainees could benefit from a brief course in observation with –”

  
 

 

  
 

“Oh, I liked the observation part!” piped up the red-haired demon again. “It was – ”

  
 

 

  
 

“Shut _up_ , Leonard,” growled Willis, interrupting. He picked up a knife from the table and, without even looking, flung it over his shoulder viciously. The knife landed squarely in the Leonard’s eye, and he began howling.

  
 

 

  
 

Willis smiled at the brothers. “As I was saying – a course in observation with a follow-up discussion with the subjects.” Behind him, Leonard freed the knife from his eye with a liquid squish. A mousy-looking brunette demon handed him a paper napkin.

  
 

 

  
 

Dean squinted at Willis. “Are you saying Sam and I are a … a field trip for junior demons?”

  
 

 

  
 

“Yes, indeed,” said Willis, sounding impressed. “This portion of the training seminar is a question-and-answer session,” he continued. He flung a fork over his shoulder and pierced Leonard’s other eye. “That ought to keep him occupied a few more minutes,” said Willis, smiling. “The screaming I can live with, but he asks the damn stupidest questions.”

  
 

 

  
 

Sam stared at Willis in disbelief. “Do you honestly think we’d tell you anything useful?”

  
 

 

  
 

“I would hope not,” said Willis earnestly. “But who knows what ridiculous questions the trainees will ask? Besides, if nothing else, humoring me keeps you alive a little while longer.”

  
 

 

  
 

Miss Bev came by, and dropped the plates of French toast onto the table. She noticed the lack of silverware in front of Dean that Willis had created. 

  
 

 

  
 

“Hey… what’d you do with that place setting?”

  
 

 

  
 

Willis nodded at Leonard. Miss Bev sniffed. “Juan’s gonna have to wash that,” she said. “Juan,” she called out, “Un knife-o es dirty-o!” She picked up a knife and fork from another table with elaborate disdain, and set them in front of Dean.

  
 

 

  
 

Dean caught the waitress’ eye. “Miss Bev,” he said carefully, “I don’t want to frighten you, and I promise you I’m not crazy. You, me, and my brother are the only human beings in this room.”

  
 

 

  
 

Miss Bev shrugged. “Takes more than a diner full of demons to startle me.”

  
 

 

  
 

Dean gaped. “You _know_?”

  
 

 

  
 

She shrugged. “I’ll serve anyone, long as they tip well.” She glared at Willis meaningfully.

  
 

 

  
 

“Most generously, I assure you,” said Willis solemnly. “But we’re likely to skip out on the bill.”

  
 

 

  
 

Miss Bev shrugged. “Don’t much care about that.”

  
 

 

  
 

Willis laughed. “And what will you employer say if he hears that?”

  
 

 

  
 

“Don’t much care about that, either. He ain’t here today. He’s home sick.”

  
 

 

  
 

“More’s the pity.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” said Miss Bev dismissively. “It’s just worms.”

  
 

 

  
 

There was a sudden cessation of movement in the diner; then, as if with one mind, humans and demons alike gingerly pushed their plates away. The sound of cheap melamine plates scraping against Formica was almost deafening, and momentarily covered the sounds of Leonard’s struggle with the fork.

  
 

 

  
 

“Yes, let’s move on to the Q-and-A,” said Willis, still staring at his plate with horror.

  
 

 

  
 

There was an excited “Oooh! Ooooh! Pick me!” from the table behind.

  
 

 

  
 

“One of your trainees is waving an arm in the air,” said Dean.

  
 

 

  
 

“Is it attached?”

  
 

 

  
 

“Yes.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Too bad. Which is it? Not Leonard, I trust.”

  
 

 

  
 

“No, he’s still working the fork out of his eye. It’s a girl, plain, straight brown hair, glasses.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Mindy,” said Willis.

  
 

 

  
 

“Sally Ann,” said the girl.

  
 

 

  
 

Willis shrugged. “Try not to ask anything fork-worthy.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Okay,” said Sally Ann. “The manual says that Catholic exorcisms work on all demons regardless of prior religious faith, if any. Why is that?”

  
 

 

  
 

“Interesting question,” said Willis. “Rises above the banalities I was expecting from this lot. Well, which of you boys wants to answer that? Dean?”

  
 

 

  
 

“I’ll take that one,” said Sam. “It’s pretty simple, really. Catholic exorcisms were developed before the Protestant Reformation, and they became the standard because they worked. After the Reformation, Protestants argued that the only way to combat demonic possession was through fasting and prayer – _any_ kind of ritual was banned. They effectively disarmed themselves, which is why there was a huge spike in demonic possessions through the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Amazing what they teach in college these days,” muttered Dean.

  
 

 

  
 

“I don’t get it,” said one of the other trainee demons. “If people could see that fasting and prayer weren’t working, why did it take three hundred years for them to change things?”

  
 

 

  
 

“I’ll answer that one,” said Dean. “Because people are funny, that’s why. If they’re convinced they’re right, then they’re _right_ , and you’ll never tell them otherwise, no matter how wrong they are. They’ll die to prove they’re right.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Now that’s what I call a depressing worldview,” said Willis. “Sometimes it really pains me that you’re on the other side. You’d make one hell of a demon.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Fuck you,” said Dean.

  
 

 

  
 

Willis laughed.

  
 

 

  
 

“I’ve got a question for you now,” said Sam. “You said you were from Cincinnati originally, so you started out as human.”

  
 

 

  
 

“That’s right,” said Willis. “Though technically that’s not a question.”

  
 

 

  
 

“I know,” said Sam. “I’m getting there.”

  
 

 

  
 

“He’ll do that to you,” said Dean. “Some sort of pre-law thing.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Those trainees behind you look like they started out as human, too,” said Sam, ignoring his brother. “And none of them looks – I don’t know – terrifying. They all look… ordinary.”

  
 

 

  
 

Willis nodded. “Ordinary as toast,” he said. “Not a murdering child-rapist in the lot. They probably don’t even have six parking tickets between them.”

  
 

 

  
 

“So why are they demons? Why aren’t they in Heaven?”

  
 

 

  
 

“And before you say, ‘that’s two questions’,” said Dean quickly, “he’s asking mine, too.”

  
 

 

  
 

“All right, fair enough,” said Willis. He pulled his chair away, so the brothers could have an unobstructed view of the trainees. Leonard was using a napkin-holder as a makeshift mirror, trying to examine the fork in his eye; Sally Ann had her nose stuck in the manual. Another demon was picking his nose. 

  
 

 

  
 

“Look at them,” he continued, waving his arm at them. “Bland, unassuming, uninteresting, dull and dull-witted. The most daring thing Leonard there ever did was smoke a cigarette behind his mother’s back – and he was thirty-four at the time. Mindy Ann never used bad words. I could go on and on, but I’d put you to sleep.”

  
 

 

  
 

“So?” asked Dean.

  
 

 

  
 

“So,” said Willis. “You two probably have a pretty good vision of what Hell is like, right? You’ve read books, seen movies. Of course, that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface. And as unimaginably horrible as Hell is, well – Upstairs is unimaginably beautiful. I don’t know why everyone thinks that people Upstairs spend all their time wearing white and walking around in clouds. It’s a riot of color, of music, of taste, of sensation – well, so is Hell, but in Hell it’s designed to torment. Upstairs it’s a whole other matter. It is _paradise_.”

  
 

 

  
 

“But we never did anything bad,” said Sally Ann softly.

  
 

 

  
 

Willis whipped around. “And when did you ever do anything _good_? You all lived cowardly lives – you never tried anything new, never dared, and if you never went on killing sprees, you certainly never lifted a finger to help anyone. Heaven is for the deserving, folks, and you weren’t it.”

  
 

 

  
 

“What about you?” asked Sam softly.

  
 

 

  
 

Willis smiled broadly. “I was a goddamn sonofabtich,” he said cheerfully. “Not bad enough to qualify for eternal torment, but juuuuuuuuuuuust bad enough to qualify for eternal middle management.”

  
 

 

  
 

“That sounds like hell to me,” muttered Dean.

  
 

 

  
 

“That could have been the point,” said Willis with a shrug.

  
 

 

  
 

“And what about them?” asked Sam, pointing to the trainees.

  
 

 

  
 

“They’ll be lucky to survive _me_ ,” said Willis. “I am step one on the obstacle course. See, when I say they’re here to learn – and they are – I mean they’re here to learn not just how to survive being hunted. They also have to learn how to survive Hell. If they _can_ – right, Leonard?” Leonard looked up sharply; the fork twanged off a classmate’s head, knocking him out of his chair.

  
 

 

  
 

“What happens if they don’t?” asked Sam. “I mean, they’re already in Hell – how much worse can it get?”

  
 

 

  
 

“They cease to exist,” said Willis. “Now, you might think that was preferable, but it turns out that folks will do damn near anything to escape oblivion. _That_ scares people. Even most of the damned are convinced they’ll get used to it someday.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Now _that_ is a depressing worldview,” said Dean.

  
 

 

  
 

“I did it!” shouted Leonard triumphantly, brandishing the fork. “No more fork in my eye!”

  
 

 

  
 

“Dude, that’s because your eye is still _attached_ ,” said Dean. “That’s disgusting.” 

  
 

 

  
 

Leonard made a disappointed noise, and inspected the eye wedged on the end of the fork.

  
 

 

  
 

“You’re not going to stick it back in there, are you?” asked Dean, turning a little green. 

  
 

 

  
 

Leonard shrugged, and jammed his eye, fork and all, back into its socket.

  
 

 

  
 

“We’re leaving now,” said Sam quietly. “They’ve learned all they can from us. And if you want to survive – and now I know you do – you won’t stop us.”

  
 

 

  
 

Willis smiled. “There’s a reason you’re the best,” he said quietly.

  
 

 

  
 

Sam signaled to Miss Bev. “Are there any humans in here besides us?” he asked.

  
 

 

  
 

“Well, Pedro the cook and Juan the busboy are Argentinian,” said Miss Bev, sounding doubtful.

  
 

 

  
 

“That counts. Get them up here.”

  
 

 

  
 

As one, Sam and Dean stood. Both of them had weapons drawn.

  
 

 

  
 

“Now, class, if any of you had been paying attention, you’d have noticed that the boys had armed themselves while we were chatting here.”

  
 

 

  
 

“ _I_ noticed,” said one of the trainees.

  
 

 

  
 

“Sure, and you decided to keep it all to yourself,” said Willis. “Nice going. You’re lucky I don’t believe you.” He stood up and backed away, giving the brothers room. Miss Bev brought the rest of the staff to the front.

  
 

 

  
 

“Get out of the building now,” said Sam, never taking his eyes from Willis. “Dean?”

  
 

 

  
 

“Ready.”

  
 

 

  
 

As soon as Miss Bev and the others were through the front door, the Winchester brothers pivoted, walking backwards quickly, weapons aimed at Willis the whole time. Once clear of the door, they broke into a sprint.

  
 

 

  
 

“Aren’t we going to chase them?” asked Sally Ann. She stepped up primly to the front door. “In the manual, it says we ought to use every advantage.”

  
 

 

  
 

“Nope,” said Willis. “We are not.”

  
 

 

  
 

“But they’re scared!”

  
 

 

  
 

“Are they?”

  
 

 

  
 

“Well,” said Sally Ann reasonably, “they’re running away.”

  
 

 

  
 

Willis grinned. “There are some circumstances in which running away does not constitute retreat.” He walked up to the front door. “Rock salt,” he said, pointing to the ground outside. “Probably rings the whole building.”

  
 

 

  
 

“How did they do that?” asked one of the other trainees.

  
 

 

  
 

“They didn’t,” said Willis softly. “Someone else did. A third person. A third hunter.”

  
 

 

  
 

There was a general scratching of heads. Willis sighed.

  
 

 

  
 

“Look,” said Willis. “Do any of you remember that trick I showed you earlier? Disincarnation? Disappear in one place, re-appear in another?”

  
 

 

  
 

There were a few murmurs of “No.”

  
 

 

  
 

“It’s not in the manual,” said Sally Ann.

  
 

 

  
 

“Sucks for you,” said Willis. “Because I really don’t have time to explain.”

  
 

 

  
 

He vanished.

  
 

 

  
 

The diner exploded.


	5. Part the Fourth: Various and Sundry Epilogues

Part the Fourth: Various and Sundry Epilogues

John explains – Willis relaxes – A demon and his Spork

 

 

The fireball reached high into the sky.

 

The one good thing about the diner’s location – or former location, as it was now scattered in quite a few places – was its distance from nearly everything else. There were no nearby homes, and the natural qualities of the desert inhibited the spread of fire. The motel on the other side of the parking lot had lost quite a few windows thanks to the explosive concussion, but was otherwise undamaged. 

 

Sam and Dean Winchester found their father on the far side of the motel, leaning against his truck, grinning broadly. As his sons approached, John Winchester pushed off the side of the truck, and wrapped them both in his arms.

 

“It’s good to see you, boys.”

 

“How’d you know how to time the blast?” asked Sam as the brothers freed themselves from their father’s bear-hug.

 

“I timed the fuse to start when the front door opened. I gave it a couple of minutes, because I knew you’d need time to get the civilians out.”

 

“And not that it isn’t great to see you, Dad,” said Dean, “but how on earth did you know to come here?”

 

“Bev called me.”

 

The brothers gaped.

 

“Miss Bev?” they chorused.

 

John shrugged. “I cleared a poltergeist out of the diner oh, I don’t know, a couple of years ago. Told her to contact me again if she ever saw anything strange. She called me as soon as the demons showed up. I had no idea that the two of you were even here ’til I got here and saw Dean’s car.”

 

He nodded toward the plume of smoke that hung in the sky. “You boys want to tell me why I just blew up a diner?”

 

“Because blowing something up always makes a bad day better?” suggested Dean.

 

John laughed. “No. Well, yes. But what I meant was, why in the world were you two having breakfast with half a dozen demons?”

 

“We couldn’t get anything to go,” said Sam dryly.

 

“We were a sort of field trip for a class of trainee demons,” said Dean.

 

“He’s not kidding,” added Sam. 

 

“That raises issues that are all kinds of disturbing,” said John. “But on the bright side, there’s one class that won’t be graduating.”

 

“Won’t the explosion just send them back to Hell?” asked Dean.

 

John grinned. “Ordinarily. But not when you’ve had your C-4 sprinkled with holy water and blessed by a priest.”

 

“The man is the _best_ , Sam, just plain the _best_.”

 

The relative quiet of the aftermath was pierced by a high-pitched noise rising in the distance, steadily coming closer. Miss Bev waved, screeched a hello, and ran toward the Winchester men.

 

“Gotta skedaddle, boys,” said John quietly. “That woman scares the hell out of me.”

 

He was already in his truck when Miss Bev grabbed hold of the driver’s door.

 

“John, are you planning to leave without saying hi and bye to me?”

 

“Sorry, Bev,” said John sweetly. “There’s a job I’ve got to get to – ”

 

“Nothing says you can’t stop for a little snack.”

 

John stared at her. “The diner’s _gone_ , Bev.”

 

“Motel’s still here.” She winked.

 

As John peeled rubber out of the parking lot, Sam turned to Dean and said, “Do you think Willis survived?”

 

Dean stared at the diminishing smoke-cloud. “I wouldn’t bet against him.”

 

 

~

 

 

The demon Willis leaned back in his chair, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He had his favorite infernal cocktail in one hand, and had just put on a particularly heinous pair of Hawaiian shorts. On top of it, he’d just watched the Winchesters – all three of them, which was a real treat; he’d never seen John work in person before – destroy his entire training class.

 

He closed his eyes and sighed again, listening to the agonized shrieks of the damned.

 

“Hey, Willis.”

 

Willis opened his eyes. “Hey, Darrell.”

 

“Heard about the diner. Slick. How’d you get them working _for_ you?”

 

Willis shrugged. “Sometimes interests converge. Pity about my class, though. Some of them had real potential.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Nah.” Willis sipped on his crazy straw.

 

Darrell grinned wickedly. “One of them survived.”

 

“Are you sure? How?”

 

“Disincarnated in the nick of time.”

 

Willis sat up a little, feeling less relaxed. “Which one? Not the prissy girl with the manual? Not _her_.”

 

“Nope,” said Darrell.

 

Willis blanched. “Not the nose-picker? Please, not the nose-picker.”

 

“Not him either.”

 

“Well, it couldn’t have been Leonard…”

 

“Why not?” asked Darrell gleefully.

 

“ _Leonard_?”

 

“At your service!” Leonard ran in cheerfully, large patches over two of his three eyes. He was carrying what looked for all the world like – no, it was made of wrought iron – it couldn’t be –

 

“Leonard,” said Willis carefully, “is that a giant _spork_?”

 

“Darrell gave it to me!” burbled Leonard happily. “He said I wasn’t ready for the full pitchfork yet, but in the meantime I could have this!”

 

“I was assigned to be his U.P.-Yours,” said Darrell. He winked at Willis.

 

“OK, Leonard,” Darrell continued, “now go poke at the damned for a while. I’ve got other stuff to do.”

 

“I’m gonna go spork Hitler!” Leonard raced out of the room.

 

“Did I just hear him say – ”

 

Darrell snorted. “Don’t worry about it. The guys in charge of torturing Hitler would never deign to let spork-boy anywhere near him.”

 

“A _spork_?”

 

Darrell smiled. “I told him it was partly in commemoration of his skills with a fork. I’m pretty hands-off – except when I’m torturing the damned, of course – so I figured I’d just let him run around Hell for a couple of weeks with a giant spork. If he survives that, I’ll give him a real assignment.”

 

“Hell-hound kennels?” asked Willis. “Pam’s been going through assistants like crazy.”

 

“My thoughts exactly. You think he’ll make it?”

 

Willis leaned back in his chair, relaxing once again. “I wouldn’t bet on him,”  he said happily, and took another sip of his drink.


End file.
